Hanging On To All We Have
by Grace Hightower
Summary: When Ziva is reassigned to San Diego, Tony struggles to cope with her absence. He also realizes that everything is not as it seems, and that there may be an ulterior motive behind Ziva's reassignment. Tiva romance.
1. Chapter 1

_US Naval Base, San Diego, California. _The letters, unassuming size 12 Times New Roman, stared back at him from the white page. He had read those words a hundred times during his career as an NCIS agent, usually during the course of an investigation. Always they had talked about other men and women being stationed there, Navy personnel, other agents. Never about him. Or someone he cared about. For the first time in a long time, Anthony DiNozzo felt absolutely sick to his stomach.

"Agent DiNozzo, you look green," Director Vance observed quietly. He sat behind his desk, hands folded calmly behind his head.

"I'm just surprised is all," Tony lied. "I didn't exactly see this one coming."

Vance shrugged carelessly, and again the sick feeling rose inside Tony's stomach.

"Changes happen, Agent DiNozzo. Something all members of law enforcement know, isn't it?"

It was, and there was no denying it-it had, after all, been such a change that had brought Tony here to NCIS. And then the time that he had been assigned as Agent Afloat, shipped off to that godforsaken vessel…

"But sir…Ziva-um, Agent David, she's a good agent. Hardworking, devoted…"

Vance fixed the younger man with what could almost pass as a sympathetic expression. But the director's eyes flicked away after a few seconds and he folded his hands primly on his desk.

"The matter still remains: Agent David will be transferred to the US Naval Base in San Diego, effective immediately."

The words brought a kind of sick, boiling rage to Tony's heart, and he felt weightless with the shock and horror of hearing someone else say it aloud. He managed a stiff nod and a numb,

"Yes sir."

He left without being excused and rushed into the men's room. He banged through the door, startling a young, fresh-faced probie who hastily zipped up his fly and dashed out.

"Damn it!" Tony half-shouted, kicking a urinal. His big toe crunched painfully against the ceramic, and the movement did nothing to extinguish his anger. Foot throbbing, Tony hobbled to the sink and leaned heavily against the porcelain rim, head bowed. He heard the door open softly, but didn't look up. When he felt a gentle hand against his back, Tony turned to Ziva standing behind him.

"I am guessing that you have heard the news?" She sounded like a very weak person who was losing the struggle to remain strong. He nodded wordlessly, and she put a very forced smile on her face.

"How did you know, Ziva?"

"I saw you coming from the director's office," she answered. "Does Gibbs know yet?"

Tony's heart sank a little more-if that was possible-when he thought of how completely devastated their boss would be.

"He's Gibbs," said Tony, "he knows everything."

**Three Days Later**

"Well, I guess this is goodbye."

They stood at the American Airlines departure gate, the runway lights of Dulles International glowing white around them. Ziva reached out, put a hand on Tony's arm. It was early winter, and the air was crisp and cold. Tony thought of Ziva's empty desk, of how the team had silently watched her pack up, offering their help only to be turned down. How the team had organized a farewell party that turned into Abby sobbing and clinging to Ziva while the forensic scientist recited all the things they would miss about their favorite former-assassin.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, though he thought he could actually feel his heart breaking inside. "Guess so."

Ziva seemed to be fighting a losing battle against tears, and it was a moment before she said,

"I'll come back, you know. Transfers like this are rarely permanent…"

They both knew that the words were false, hollow and empty. Meaningless.

"I'm going to miss you, Tony." Ziva said quietly. Tony just held out his arms and Ziva clung to him as though he were the only thing anchoring her to the ground. Tony could feel his arms around her, his face buried in her shoulder, but he felt light-headed, as though he were having a sort of out-of-body experience. He just wanted to hold her and never let go. Streams of humanity rushed past, people hauling luggage and small children, taxis careened madly through the traffic, but the universe might have all but faded away for the few minutes that Tony and Ziva stood there, holding each other. When she pulled away-and she was the first to-he gave her a final squeeze on the shoulder.

"I'll see you around, Tony."

This time, there was no funny movie quote, no ironic joke to make. Only goodbye. So he said it.

"Yeah. See you around, Ziva."

**So I caved and wrote a romance story, which is the type of story that I'm most uncomfortable with and try to force myself to write anyway. I hope you all have enjoyed it, and please leave a review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: you guys motivated me to churn this out! **

The days passed with excruciating slowness, the clock's hands moving as if through thick syrup. Waking up in the morning no longer held the same appeal for Tony, simply rolling out of bed was a battle in itself. The drive to work offered depressing songs that reminded him of Ziva, and the sight of her empty desk-constantly mocking him from across the bullpen-tortured him like nothing else. Going out in the field and traversing the same streets that he had once traveled with Ziva no longer held its familiar appeal. When the weather turned cold and cloudy, it mirrored Tony's mood perfectly. He could tell that the rest of the team was mourning Ziva's loss as well, but he privately felt that no one was as devastated as himself.

_She was a damn good partner, _Tony thought grimly, _that's why you miss her so much. _It was too terrifying to think of any other reason. And yet, seated on a park bench near the harbor on a frosty Sunday afternoon, Tony could not entirely convince himself that being the loss of his 'good partner' was the only thing he was missing.

"Agent DiNozzo!" A high, clear voice cut through the light wind, and Tony turned to see a young blonde woman coming towards him across the frosted grass. She wore a blue NCIS windbreaker and a cheery grin. Tony recognized her as KaiHarrow, a probie from Mark Wilson's team, a former Naval officer who had joined NCIS last year. Tony scooted over on the bench to make room for her and Kai took a seat gratefully.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

It was, in a cold and grim sort of way-dark clouds scudded low over the water's steely surface, and a few fat barges plowed through the grey waves near the port's mouth.

"Yeah," Tony agreed half-heartedly. Kai groped in her pocket and retrieved a worn packet of gum. The scent of mint filled the thin air and was soon swept away on the breeze.

"I heard about your partner, DiNozzo." Kai's face adopted an expression of genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Tony glanced at the young woman beside him. Confident, strong-willed…Tony had worked a case with her team a few months back, and had witnessed the Hawaiian-born probie take down a 200 pound PCP addict with her bare hands. Kai reminded him a little of Ziva, and even the small reminder of his partner made his heart twinge unpleasantly.

"It's fine," Tony lied and Kai smirked.

"Don't bullshit me, DiNozzo. I know how you feel about her." The younger woman demonstrated a remarkable ability to see right through Tony's lies, especially the ones concerning his romantic life.

"Ziva's a good agent," Kai paused for a moment. "You know, the scuttlebutt is that the orders for her reassignment came from…well, _higher up_ the food chain."

Tony's head turned slowly to squint at Kai, who simply arched an eyebrow.

"Who said?"

Kai smirked; if she knew where the gossip had originated she wasn't telling.

"I have my sources, DiNozzo." She paused, adopting a more serious tone and leaning closer. "Look, I don't even know if it's true. But I mean, Ziva _was _a good agent. Sharper than a knife, probably about as deadly. It's weird that they'd just, you know, _transfer _her to another field office."

Tony nodded, staring pensively at the grey water and the dark clouds before shaking his head.

"I'm going to look into it, Kai. I just can't get caught by Vance. He might be the boss but he's one sneaky son of a bitch."

Kai leaned in and kissed Tony on the cheek, and he squeezed her arm before they went their separate ways: Kai back to the office and Tony to his car.

**Same Day, San Diego, California**

"Agent David, do you have the reports for the Mikeson case?" The older, heavy-set senior field agent leaned rudely across Ziva's desk and made grabbing motions with his pudgy fingers. Ziva sighed and handed over the manila folder while simultaneously attempting to unseal Petty Officer John Barrow's records. The bored-sounding secretary at the Hall of Records kept insisting that there was no John Barrow to be heard of and that there must be some mistake.

"I just can't believe that you're a cop," the woman was droning. "Unless you come down here and show me some ID I can't tell you anything."

Ziva resisted the urge to 'come down' to the Hall of Records and stab the woman with a paperclip. She had been in San Diego for only a few days, but already she disliked her new position. Her boss was distant and didn't pay much attention to his team, instead handing any important tasks over to Bob Hussler, the senior field agent on Team Webster. The other agent on the team was a younger kid named Jeremy Ira, somewhat of a suck-up whose main goal seemed to be getting ahead in the game. He was nice enough, Ziva had decided, better at least than Bob Hussler, but she wasn't exactly planning on a round of drinks with her new coworkers.

_You were just so used to Team Gibbs, _she told herself, _that's why this team could never measure up. _

But even sitting at her new desk in the angry florescent glare, Ziva knew that it was something else. She felt empty, hollow, as though she had accidently left part of her heart back in Washington DC along with her old desk and swivel chair and her favorite pen that she had loaned to Tony and never gotten back.

"Hey, Agent David." It was Jeremy, peering over the partition that separated Ziva's desk from the hall to her right. "We just got a call about a suspected drug deal on the base. Want to head out with me?"

He looked pathetically hopeful, and Ziva sensed that Hussler wouldn't allow him out into the field without supervision. She hung up on the annoying secretary and gathered her collar and shield. If she didn't have Team Gibbs, at least she could find comfort in the familiarity of her Sigg Sauer.

**Sorry for another short chapter. Oh, and I didn't know what kind of gun Ziva uses so I just made it up. Please review, my lovelies. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Four Days Later**

**Washington Naval Yard, Washington DC**

It was the third night in a row that he'd jolted awake thinking of her. Of their airport goodbye. Of watching her walk away. In the blue half-light of three AM, the two thousand miles between them seemed impossibly immense.

"Damn it, Ziva."

Tony sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. His heart felt empty, weightless. He was more lonely than he had ever felt before. He flashed back to a distant memory-his first month at military boarding school. Seven years old, sleepless nights, missing his absent parents more than he'd ever admit.

"Damn it," he cursed again. Ziva had no idea, the effect she had. She was thousands of miles away, across the nation, and she still held his heartstrings in her nimble fingers. Still, his resolve was hardening. He knew what he had to do.

Vance looked half-surprised to see Tony waiting outside his office at 0600 hours the next morning. The younger agent had a dogged look on his face, though his posture was determined.

"Morning, DiNozzo."

It was a half-hearted greeting. Vance unlocked his office and waved Tony inside, then took a seat behind his mahogany desk. The director folded his hands calmly and waited for his agent to speak.

"Sir, I need to know why Zi-why Agent David was transferred to San Diego."

Vance visibly sighed, his shoulders moving up and down in defeat. Tony could practically _hear _the older man cursing his determined agent.

"I'm sorry, DiNozzo, but that information is classified."

Tony leaned forwards.

"Sir, she's not answering my calls. I'm worried."

Vance glanced around and then sighed again, his expression similar to that of a weary father's giving into his pleading child.

"Recently, I've been noticing a...rodent problem...lately. Let's say that there's a rat in my house. I want to send my best terrier in to get rid of the rat. Quickly, efficiently, without a problem or an international incident. Do you understand what I'm saying, Agent?"

As realization dawned on Tony, his pulse quickened. A rat. Ziva was the terrier, Vance's loyal hound, who had gone in after a leak somewhere in the San Diego field office. He wasn't sure what was better-the idea of Ziva going after some faceless rat or her being transferred without reason to San Diego.

"Do you know who the leak is?" Tony asked. As usual, Vance's face was unreadable.

"You know I can't tell you that," the director sighed. It was Tony's cue to leave, but he lingered for a few more seconds.

"Why isn't she answering my calls, sir?"

Vance quirked one eyebrow, the effect was almost comical.

"Agent David has been placing phone calls to my office every evening," he replied. "If she's not answering _your_ calls, perhaps it's something personal."

Tony left the office feeling slightly more nauseous than he'd entered.

**San Diego, California**

Ziva had always been her father's favorite tool when it came to finding rats. If the Mossad director suspected a leak within his agency, he would send his daughter in after it. Of course, that had been different. That had been Israel, the deserts and the old cities and the constant threat of death hanging over her head. Now it was bright San Diego, with rows of palm trees and a smog-smeared sky.

She couldn't help but feel a little bitter that she had gone from being her father's favorite ratting terrier to Vance's. The director had hundreds of agents at his disposal. Why did he have to choose _her_?

_Because that's what happens to federal agents_, Ziva reminded herself. They were uprooted like weeds, plucked from their homes and dropped onto the other side of the country and expected to set down new roots.

Now she leaned against a palm tree, arms folded, listening to Tony's answering machine for the third time. It had been days since they had last spoken and she was getting nervous.

"Hello?"

The sound of his voice filled her with such relief that her knees went weak. The mere idea of how comforting his voice was terrified her. It was more than hearing a familiar friend's greeting-it was like coming home.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'd just like to thank everyone who has read this story and/or reviewed it. Honestly, you guys ROCK. I'm actually in San Diego right now, which is exciting, so hopefully I'll be able to do some research about this awesome city. Please let me know how you enjoy this chapter and also the plot.

**US Naval Station, San Diego, California**

Ziva hadn't slept properly in days. Now, on Sunday night, she lay in bed unable to doze off. Sleep evaded her, dark oblivion dancing just out of her reach. Her mind whirred like an engine, a thousand miles an hour, going too fast to slow down. She couldn't stop thinking about the damn rat. Was it her boss? He was a quiet man, reserved, a thirty-year veteran of the Navy and a fifteen-year NCIS agent. He had three kids, two sons in the Marines, and seven grandchildren. Ziva had seen pictures of a comfortable house in a suburb and fishing trips to Cancun. Webster was one of the good guys, like Gibbs he was on the quiet side, but commanding. He had a good life, done a lot of service to his country, earned every cent in his retirement fund. No way would he give that up, not now. Hussler? He was a jerk, sure, but that didn't make him a criminal. He had been with NCIS for ten years, and it seemed unlikely that he would sell government secrets. Ira? He was so ambitious, eager to please, almost canine in that respect. However, he was also extremely patriotic and loyal, sometimes to the point of being annoying. Ziva didn't think that the kind of kid who wore American flag ties and bragged about being elected 'Most Likely to Serve His Country' on the high school senior yearbook page would be selling secrets to terrorist cells.

_I wish Tony was here_, Ziva thought sadly. He was so intuitive, yet he often ignored or brushed aside his brilliance. Their conversation the previous day had been brief and unfulfilling, and though neither of them had wanted to hang up they both had. Ziva sat up in bed and raked her hands through her tangled hair. The clock read 2:43 AM.

"You're a disaster, Ziva."

She could literally _hear _Tony's voice in her head, urging her to get some sleep, not work so hard. She considered calling him, but it was too early back east. She didn't want to wake him up, but she needed to talk to someone.

Ziva punched in the numbers automatically, her fingers moving of their own accord she had dialed the number so many times. He answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

She waited for a moment, finding solace in his voice and shame in the fact that she had woken him. He had probably already been awake-Lord knew her former boss rarely slept-but she still felt guilty. After a moment of crackling silence, she hung up, suppressing a quiet sob.

"What's wrong with me?" Ziva wondered aloud. Was she having a mental breakdown? Turning into her mother, a distant, weepy figure who had floated ghostlike around their house in Israel, wearing many shawls even in the heat of summer? Deciding that she was simply exhausted and overworked, Ziva collapsed back into bed after swallowing a sleeping pill. She would be fine in the morning.

**Washington DC**

Not for the first time, Tony had risen long before his alarm clock rang. He had started going to sleep later, laying awake and watching strange shadows dance across his ceiling. He had found himself longing to call Ziva, desperate for conversation with her, but then he would remind himself that she was probably sleeping or working and didn't want to be bothered.

Tony had spent four months on an aircraft carrier in the Atlantic Ocean, four months with nothing but blue sea stretching as far as the eye could see. Four months when the only contact he had with home was a five minute telephone call every Friday. And yet he felt far more lonely now, sitting in boxers and socks on the edge of his bed. He was sure that it had something to do with the fact that Ziva was gone. On the ship, he had survived on the notion that in a few months he would be home again, working with the former assassin. Plus, the snapshots of Ziva in a bikini didn't hurt matters. Now, however, he was starting to lose hope that the other agent would return to DC. The rest of the team had been hiding their heartbreak well-McGee had stopped joking around so much, Abby's music had gotten softer and Ducky's lengthy tales had become shorter. Gibbs had taken it badly, it was obvious to Tony that after Kate's death he wasn't ready to deal with losing another 'kid'.

Tony privately felt that he himself had been dealt the most bitter blow by Ziva's transfer, until Gibbs pulled him aside one day. A typical 'Gibbs elevator conference' complete with power out and no lights. The cramped space reeked of stale coffee and cough drops and carpet cleaner.

"DiNozzo, you're not the only one who misses her," the older agent growled. Tony was miffed.

"I know, boss."

Gibbs stared at Tony, his blue eyes boring into Tony's hazel ones.

"Sometimes we have to leave the people that we love. But they will _always _find a way back to us, understand?"

Tony was so surprised to hear the words coming from _Gibbs _of all people that he just stared.

"Understand, DiNozzo?"

Tony nodded and Gibbs turned the elevator back on. As it whirred to life, he leaned closer and added,

"You lost a lover, Tony. I lost one of my daughters."

And the pain was evident on Gibbs' face, the extraordinary heartbreak of losing not one, but three of his children over the years. Only one of them had been his own flesh and blood, but all of them had been molded by his love. Ziva David, daddy's little soldier, loyal until the end.

"I'm sorry," Tony muttered, feeling sick. He felt guilty that he had never stopped to take his friend's pain into consideration. He had always assumed that Ducky and McGee and Abby and Gibbs could never have cared for Ziva as much as he did. And he was wrong. So very, very wrong.

**Thanks for getting this far! Hope this chapter sufficed until I can scribble down some more. Thanks for reading and please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Five o'clock had come her favorite time of day. Back in DC, Ziva had rarely noted the passing of time, she found work to be enjoyable and exciting. Rewarding. Fascinating. Now, she couldn't wait until quitting time.

"Hey, Agent David!" It was Ira, peeking over the cubicle partition. "Some of the team is going out for drinks, do you wanna come with?"

Ziva frowned and glanced over at Hussler in disbelief. He shrugged, although apparently was attending as well. Webster was already gunning out of his office, walking towards the door at a pace Ziva had never seen him move at.

"Have fun, kids," he called over his shoulder, obviously elated at the idea of going home. Something about the way he called them 'kids' reminded her of Gibbs. She missed her friends in DC so much that her heart actually ached for a few seconds at the thought of them.

_Don't be weak, Ziva_, she commanded herself. She found herself agreeing to the drinks, only as a means of distracting herself from the suddenly agonizing memories.

**Washington DC**

Tony had taken up drinking as a sort of recreational activity back in his frat boy days, and now he found himself returning to his old friend Jack Daniels to numb whatever pain he was feeling. A couple shots of whiskey and some old photographs and he was done in.

The newscaster was saying something about an approaching cold front, but Tony wasn't listening. He was staring at the faded picture in his hands: a black and white snapshot of a beautiful woman. Dark hair framed a stunning face, but there was something shielded in her eyes, as though she were guarding a dark secret. And her face was full of a beautiful pain, a terrible tragedy that illuminated her splendor. Something in the set of her mouth was grim and serious, and it grieved Tony to see that. He felt tears welling in his eyes-although he would never admit it, Tony was often a weepy drunk-and he angrily brushed them away.

_Damn it, Ziva. I could have done something for you. I could have made you smile. After all those years when you were so afraid to be happy…I could have made up for that. _

And so Tony sat in his empty apartment, whiskey long abandoned, crying over a photograph that reminded him so clearly of a woman he thought he might save.

**San Diego**

The Golden Hook bar was not an establishment in which Ziva would have preferred to spend her night, but it seemed rude to leave Ira and Hussler. Ira looked like he was enjoying himself, but the senior field agent couldn't appear less amused. He looked like he couldn't wait to leave. Ziva had been sipping a half pint for the last hour or so, listening to some throbbing crappy music. Hussler seemed agitated, simply fiddling around with his whiskey instead of drinking it. Ira, however, was knocking back shots with the gusto of an alcoholic, nodding along to the music and checking out a pair of giggling blondes.

"So," Ziva heard someone say beside her. She glanced over to see Hussler sliding closer, drink abandoned. "Are you enjoying yourself, Agent David?"

_Gross_. Was Hussler trying to _hit on her_? Ziva turned to him, scowl at the ready, only to find him assuming what was obviously a 'sexy' pose, leaning on the bar like some damned James Bond wannabe.

"Or can I call you Ziva? You know, since we're outside of work and all…"

Ziva stood suddenly, nearly knocking back the stool.

"I have to use the restroom," she fibbed, and made a mad dash for the toilets. She banged through the door, only to be greeted by two drunk girls in tube tops vomiting into the sink. Utterly repulsed, she wheeled around and headed back to the bar. She could easily evade Hussler's advances, but the vile bodily fluids being projected all over that bathroom were _not_ something she wanted to test.

The senior field agent was leaning against the bar and smirking, as though he hadn't moved since Ziva had excused herself. She rolled her eyes and gulped down another sip of her beer.

"So you transferred from DC, right?" Hussler asked, like he didn't already know the answer.

"Right," Ziva replied shortly.

"So what was DC like, anyway? I hear it's really hot there. Did you have a boyfriend…anyone serious?"

She couldn't believe his gall, and would have given him an injury to whine about, but Ziva had started feeling a little ill. She wasn't a heavy drinker, but she was certainly no lightweight. A half-pint shouldn't leave her feeling like this. The music seemed to be growing louder in her ears as Hussler's annoying flirting became a droning background noise. The room turned uncomfortably hot, and the four walls around her started spinning. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

"Feeling alright?" Hussler asked, leaning forwards, forehead wrinkled in concern. Ziva lurched to her feet and staggered away towards the distant door, stumbling a little and bumping into a giggling brunette girl. She got the awful feeling that she was going to start emulating the two drunks in the bathroom at any moment.

"Air," Ziva croaked. "I need…air…"

She felt Hussler put an arm around her shoulder, and he smelled like sweat and nothing at all like that musky aftershave that Tony always wore and Ziva couldn't help but wish that it was Tony leading her out the door and into the freezing night air. The world was spinning faster and faster, as though she were on some demented carousel, and Ziva realized that she was in a car and Hussler was grinning at her, showing off too-white teeth. That was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

**AHHH! Sorry to leave you on such a cliffie, guys! But maybe this will encourage more reviews? :P Love you all, and thanks for**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who reviewed. When I saw your new reviews popping up, it made my whole night. Here are internet hugs and cookies and TIVA moments. I love you all and I really hope that you like this next chapter. **

_She was eight years old, standing on the rooftop of their Tel Aviv home. A row of paper lanterns swayed gently in the warm breeze, and the city below was a tumble of lighted buildings. Ari was standing beside her, drinking one of the sparkly American sodas that their father always forbade. _

"_Tel Aviv is so beautiful at night," Ziva said. Ari took a silent swig of soda pop. _

"_The lights look just like stars, like diamonds," she added. Ari's hand found its way to her shoulder, and she turned to see him staring out at the glittering mass of lights with a distant expression on his face. _

"_You think that now, Ziva," he said quietly. "But one day you'll realize that stars are just balls of fire in space, and those lights are just electricity."_

_And he turned and walked away, leaving Ziva staring at the lights that were no longer diamonds._

She awoke in a daze, the world fading out of black and into a kind of dappled sunlight. Ziva struggled to sit up, fighting a growing sensation of nausea. She was in a cramped, tiny room, adobe walls, low roof. A single window, curtained by a tarp, allowed in a little sunlight. Confusion washed over her in waves, followed closely by panic. How did she get here? The last thing she recalled was going to some seedy bar with Ira and Hussler…

_Hussler_. She forced the memories to return, and found that she could recollect him flirting heavily with her, laying on the false charm, she remembered feeling sick, getting up to leave…

"Agent David!" A wide, sweaty face appeared in the window, and none other than Hussler himself was grinning at her. "Or shall I call you Ziva? I mean, it's not like we're at work, you know."

Ziva glared at him, well aware that he was the one behind this. Of course he was. She had been foolish not to see it before-but of course, how could she?

"You hid it very well," she snapped. "Selling secrets to drug cartels, Hussler, that's dangerous business. You must have gone into work every day ready for a heart attack. Surrounded by federal agents who could have outed you in a second…"

Hussler heaved himself through the low window with some difficulty. Dust smeared his brown suit, his thin hair was greasy with sweat, sticking up like a clown's. He looked quite deranged.

"I knew you were a snitch," said Hussler angrily. "You were too close to the Director, everyone knew it."

ZIva ignored this and peered around the tarp to get a glimpse of the outside world. She saw bright blue sky, scrubby badlands stretching to meet the low ridge of mountains in the distance. The desert, probably somewhere near San Diego. This close to the boarder, it would be drug cartel's stomping grounds. Of course, Hussler probably had close ties to dangerous groups.

"Hussler, just let me walk away. You don't want to hold a federal agent hostage."

The older man gave her an ugly sneer.

"As if. I'm going to keep you here until I find out exactly how deep this goes."

And he turned and hoisted himself through the window. He paused, then stuck his head back in.

"Oh, and there's a guard with an AK-47 stationed outside. Escape would be…unwise, to say the least."

This time, he slammed a heavy metal door over the low window, effectively throwing Ziva into utter darkness.

**Washington DC**

Two days. That's how long Tony had gone without word from Ziva. Apparently, he wasn't the only one. Vance, however, was a much cooler head in the situation. An expert on dealing with undercover agents, he was attempting to reassure Tony that Very Special Agent Ziva David had not been kidnapped by the rat. It wasn't working very well.

"This is a high-risk op, Director. And it's been two days since she last made contact. Isn't that cause for concern?"

Vance stared at Tony for a few seconds and then shook his head.

"Not yet, Agent DiNozzo. Besides, the rules say that I have to wait for two weeks without contact before filing an official report."

Panic seized Tony and he found himself lunging forwards and planting his hands on the director's desk.

"TWO WEEKS?" He spluttered. Vance rolled backwards a few inches in his office chair and brushed off his tie, as though Tony had somehow dirtied the accessory.

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo, two weeks. Is that a problem for you?"

Tony felt sick, feverish, suddenly. The solution was very clear in the front of his mind, painfully obvious.

"Then I'll be taking my time off now. I believe I have four days overtime."

Vance did not check his records before nodding. His dark eyes never left Tony's.

"I believe that's correct, Agent DiNozzo. Any plans for the weekend?"

Tony tilted his chin a little higher.

"I'm going to see an old friend out in California."

**California**

It was too dark to see, but Ziva knew that there was no way out this cell. She estimated that it was probably an old house, a one room pueblo that someone had converted into a desert prison. And even if, by some miracle, she did escape…well, Hussler had warned her about the guards. Ziva already knew that she would not attempt a breakout. She would be shot on sight, and she wanted to live to see freedom. She _would_ get out of here, all she needed was time to formulate a plan.

She wished that Tony were here, then realized how selfish that was. She didn't want him to get hurt, and just thinking about him now made her heart twist painfully. It was the first time in a long time that she had cared so deeply for someone that it hurt.

For the first time in a while, Ziva bowed her head and prayed.

**NCIS Field Office, San Diego, California**

One day later, Tony stood in the air-conditioned lobby of the NCIS regional field office. Despite the cool air, a thin sheen of sweat had gathered under his arms and on his forehead. He wished that Gibbs were here, or McGee, or _someone_ other than himself. However, he had known since he had boarded the plane that this was a mission he would have to undertake alone. This was the final test of faith.

"Special Agent DiNozzo?" A pretty young woman with waist-length raven hair leaned through the doorway. "Special Agent Webster will see you now."

He rose and followed her through the office's bullpen-which looked vastly different from headquarters-and into a cramped, cluttered office. An older man with silver hair was scribbling something onto a report. He glanced up when Tony entered, and the young woman left them alone.  
>"Special Agent DiNusso, right?"<p>

"Actually it's DiNozzo," Tony replied. Webster nodded and put away the file.

"You're here about Agent David, correct?"

Tony nodded, simultaneously looking around the untidy space. Photographs were everywhere: Webster and a woman around his age standing on a fishing boat, a couple of grinning kids in bathing suits, a family portrait featuring a large clan, a faded wedding picture. This was a man who liked to keep his family close-he was proud of the life he had built. There was also a large snapshot of a much younger Webster in a Navy dress uniform, receiving some kind of reward from the Secretary of the Navy. An American flag hung on the wall above the door. He was a good man, a patriotic man. Not a man, Tony thought, who would throw that away by selling out his government.

"Yes. Is she out in the field? I was told she wasn't here at the moment."

Webster shook his head and sighed.

"Agent David hasn't been to work in two days. She sent me a text message on Monday saying that she was sick."

Tony's heart plummeted. A strange buzzing filled his ears.

"Sick? A text message? You didn't hear her voice?"

Webster was frowning now, leaning forwards as if attempting to determine if Tony were crazy or not.

"I'm sure she's fine, Agent DiNozzo. Is there a reason you're here?"

Tony stood, pushing back his chair. He regretted what he had to say next, but he got had a gut feeling that Webster wasn't the rat.

"She was investigating someone on your team, sir. Someone who was selling Navy secrets to drug cartels."

Webster's face drained of color, the effect would have been almost comical if the situation hadn't been so dire.

"I was never informed of this," he stammered. Tony met his shocked gaze with a level stare. He was attempting to control a quickly mounting panic. Webster clearly had no idea that Ziva was in great danger.

"Sir, where's the rest of your team? I'm going to need to talk to them."

Webster, still looking pale and stricken, half-rose behind his desk.

"Bob Hussler, my senior field agent. He called in sick two days ago."

Tony was filled with a quiet fury.

"And you didn't make the connection? You didn't realize that the God damn rat had kidnapped one of your agents?"

He knew that his anger was misplaced; Webster could not have known that one of his trusty agents was a rat. He was just a man trying to hold together a team and though he had should have been more attentive, he had not meant for anything to go wrong.

"I'm gonna need all of Hussler's information," Tony demanded. Webster nodded.

"I don't have much on him, personally. I can give you his address, though…"

Tony accepted a computer printout of information from the inept Webster. The older man had stopped looking like the leader he was and started looking more like a failure. Tony pushed blindly out of the office, feeling like he was drowning. He wished more than anything that Gibbs were here; he did not know if he could do this on his own.

**Again, sorry for the cliff hanger ending. Honestly, I love you guys and hope that you enjoyed this chapter. I've been writing shorter chapters in order to increase the publishing rate. Hope you all like it! Love to all of you!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks so much for all the awesome reviews! Hope this chapter suits your needs, mwah haha. I'll add in some romance for y'all and of course some butt-kicking from our favorite feds! Enjoy!**

**San Diego, California**

Hussler's apartment building was a few minutes from the busy San Diego freeway and Tony-who had let himself without a key-could hear the soft rush of cars through the window. He was desperately searching for something, anything, that might give him a clue as to where Hussler was keeping Ziva. Unfortunately, the apartment was cluttered but bare of any substantial evidence.

"Come on," Tony hissed, frustration blooming in his chest. "I have to find _something_. Anything, damn it!"

Without a clue as to where Ziva was being held, his efforts were fruitless. He tried to imagine what Gibbs would do in his place, but he was too angry to clearly picture anything but punching Hussler in the face. It was then that his eyes landed on a piece of paper sticking from the seat of a worn armchair. Tony plucked it out and found himself staring at a map.

_What the hell? _The terrain looked familiar-indicating low hills, flat dry land. Desert. It could have been anywhere in California, but Tony recognized the freeway. His heart pumping faster than usual, he grabbed the map and ran for the car. This, he felt sure, was the key to finding Ziva.

**The desert outside of San Diego**

Ziva had been held hostage before, and compared to those times this wasn't half bad. So far, Hussler had visited several times, each time attempting to extract information from her through various threats. He hadn't used any extreme physical methods yet and Ziva knew that she could mentally block his threats. The worst torture they had inflicted was no food or water for several days. While extremely thirsty, Ziva knew that she could last a few more days without a sip. After that…well, she was holding onto the hope that someone would come for her before then. Ziva knew that it was stupid-she should not be waiting for someone else to come and rescue her. Life was no fairy tale, no knight in shining armor was going to gallop up on a white horse and sweep her away. It was a cute fantasy, but unrealistic. And there was no time for daydreams now…she had to escape.

"David!" The window banged back open and Hussler leaned, his face flushed. "My boss-uh, _I _want answers. About how you found it was me who was selling the information."

Ziva stared at him, meeting Hussler's watery gaze with her own determined glare. She would not give in. She had been tortured before, and she would not collapse under pressure.

"I need water," Ziva said. "Before I say anything."

She was slow with thirst and hunger, and when Ziva next glanced up Hussler was holding a gun to her.

"Start talking," he said. "Or I'll shoot."

**Sorry for the cliffie and the short chapter but I wanted to get something up. Thanks for reading and please tell me what you want to see in later chapters (think TIVA moments).**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, everyone. I deeply apologize for the short update last time, I just needed to get something out there so you didn't think I had abandoned this story. I promise that this chapter will be filled with action and TIVA. **

**The desert outside San Diego**

Ziva stalled. She lied. She told Hustler that she had been sent from Headquarters by a high-ranking Navy official, not on NCIS orders. She fingered a Captain John Merwick for the operation, a name she knew was false. And silently, she prayed that Tony would come for her. Or Gibbs. Even McGee, at this point, though his shooting skills needed work. It was growing dark now, the world fading along with the sun. Everything lapsed into blue.

"Look, David, I like you. You're a federal agent, and I don't make a habit of shooting cops." Hustler bared his teeth in what was clearly supposed to be a smile.

Several hours earlier, a young man with a thin mustache and a nervous twitch had come in and bound Ziva with her own handcuffs. Now she strained against the bonds, wishing for a paperclip so she could pick the lock and murder Hustler in one fell swoop.

"You're a cop, Hustler. Don't do this."

The overweight agent threw back his head and laughed bitterly. It was the sound of pure insanity.

"Don't throw that 'protect and serve, same cause, same badge' crap at me. I didn't spend all that time slaving away at NCIS for the shitty benefits."

Ziva was getting nowhere. Hustler was right-they were not the same. But at the same time, they were not too different. She had not joined NCIS on her own terms. She had joined on her father's orders, giving him an inside ear to the buzz of Washington. Now, however, she carried the badge for very different reasons. Hustler might have joined NCIS for the right reasons, but after several years he had carried the badge for all the wrong ones.

"Please," she said tiredly. "Just give me some water. I've given you the information."

Hustler grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.

"Yes. Yes, you have." He reached around to his holster and removed the sidearm there. "But I can't let you live." Something in his face shifted, as if he truly regretted what he was about to do. "I'm sorry."

He pulled back the safety catch. Ziva closed her eyes. She realized that she was about to die in the worst way possible-bound and helpless, like some kind of animal led to slaughter. She thought of Team Gibbs, of her silver-haired fox, her sniper, of Abby and McGee and Ducky and Palmer, of the group of people that had changed her life so much for the better, who had found her at a time when she was so alone. She owed them so much, and it broke her heart that she would never tell them exactly how much she loved them. And she thought of Tony. Of the man who had found her, alone and lost, and given her safe passage. Of the one man she had ever truly loved. She thought of Tony, bound like she was now, smirking at the terrorists who had held her hostage. The man who had gone halfway around the world to save her. She wanted her last thought to be of him.

_BANG_!

**The desert outside of San Diego**

Tony crouched behind a shrub, sweat dripping from his forehead and other places he didn't want to think about. It was hotter than Hell. The cartel's camp shimmered in the last waves of heat from the dying sun. He raised the scope to his eye again and surveyed the tiny room. The outbuilding, likely once belonging to the ranchers who had herded cattle on these badlands. He could make out a hulking figure-Hustler, he was willing to bet-and a smaller form, kneeling on the dirt floor, hands bound before her. Ziva. His heart skipped a beat and his breath quickened. He began to panic when he saw Hustler raise a pistol and aim it at Ziva. His finger twitched on the trigger. Another second and Hustler would blow Ziva's brains out.

_Please, God. Or Gibbs. Whoever the Hell is watching me right now, just please let me shoot straight. _

He pulled the trigger.

_BANG!_

In unison, both figures crumpled to the ground. Tony's heart actually stopped beating for a moment, his breath froze in his chest. Raising the rifle, he began to run.

The compound was deserted, save for a few guards milling around the perimeter. They carried automatic weapons, but seemed despondent and lax. Probably former soldiers or cops, brought up from Mexico by the cartel for cheap security.

He reached the low outbuilding without being seeing, walking hunched, silently, SWAT-style. From inside came a low moan, and Tony kicked open the door. His heart had never beat so quickly in his life; he felt as though it were about to come up through his throat. Lying in the gloom were two figures-one dead, one twitching.

"Ziva," Tony breathed, kneeling by her limp form. Her skin was grimy but pale as death, her eyes closed, her wrists bound before her. "Please be okay," he murmured, aware of how stupid it sounded. How childish it sounded.

Then Ziva's eyes flew open. Her dark gaze was confused, out of focus.

"Tony?" She sounded dazed as he retrieved the key from Hustler's pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. "Why are you here?"

He looped one arm around her shoulders, cringing at how delicate she felt.

"I came to save you." The words sounded cheesy and slightly surreal.

They moved slowly towards the door, Ziva limping, Tony half-carrying her.

"From all the way across the country?"

One hand on his gun, ready to fire, one hand squeezing the shoulder of the woman he loved. Yup, in the slightly off-kilter world of a federal agent, this was about as good as it got.

"Yeah, Ziva. From all the way across the country."

**Okay, so it's not done but it's getting there. Thanks for reading, guys. I promise more TIVA moments in the near future. **


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